


asleep with roses in my hand

by Lake (beyond_belief)



Category: Disney RPF, Jonas Brothers
Genre: M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-14
Updated: 2012-02-14
Packaged: 2017-10-31 04:29:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/339883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beyond_belief/pseuds/Lake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Outtake from 'lonely was the song I sang', David's POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	asleep with roses in my hand

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [lonely was the song I sang](https://archiveofourown.org/works/68503) by [Lake (beyond_belief)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beyond_belief/pseuds/Lake). 



Nick's arm is a heavy weight over his hip when David wakes up, sweaty and gross in this unfamiliar hotel bed, an anonymous Days Inn on the edge of some place called Ash Fork, three hours from the place they're aiming for. 

He wiggles out from underneath Nick and turns over. Asleep, Nick looks years younger, as if in unconsciousness he loses all the responsibility he normally carries. His forehead is smooth, his mouth slightly open, each inhalation barely a noise. 

As he watches, Nick scrunches up his whole face as if he's about to sneeze, but then he just turns over and settles back down. David gets out of the bed, rubbing the sleep from the corners of his eyes, and stumbles into the bathroom. He looks at himself in the mirror for a while. There's a line down the side of his face from sleeping on a crease in the pillow, his eyes are red-rimmed and bloodshot, and he desperately needs to shave. 

He totally looks like a man who's getting married later.

There's a coffeemaker in the little pre-bathroom alcove so he sets it to brew while he hunts for a razor in his bag, but he doesn't have one, and he's not going to go through Nick's stuff looking for one to borrow. He'll just be scruffy for a while longer. At least it's not patchy like it used to be. 

He tries not to use all the little bottles of shampoo and conditioner in the shower. Knowing Nick, he's got his own travel-sized toiletries, but David at least wants the illusion of courtesy. He stands under the hot spray and lets it hit him full in the face, sharp little stings. Steam billows. He breathes it in, scrubbing shampoo through his hair. 

When he's done, he feels a thousand times better. The coffee's finished and he stands naked and dripping on the floor while he drinks a cup of it, thick with all the sugar from all the packets that were on the tray. Then he brushes his teeth, grimacing as the two tastes mix. 

"Hey," he hears, Nick's voice low and gravelly, and he turns to see Nick hovering in the partially open doorway, his eyes fixed on the floor. 

David just pulls the door further open. More steam escapes. "Shit, we're getting married, you can look," he says around a mouthful of toothpaste foam, then spits it into the sink. Modesty has never been a big concern of his. He splashes cooler water onto his face, wipes away the drops with the back of his hand. "Did you want a shower?" he asks Nick, glancing over at him. "You all right?"

"Yeah, I just need some breakfast," Nick says, scrunching up his face and then relaxing it a few times in a row. David wants to laugh because it's obvious that Nick is trying not to look. And as if to prove his theory, Nick squints at him, his gaze steadfastly not dropping below David's neck as he asks, "Don't we get free food at this place?"

"In the lobby, I think." 

"I'm gonna run down there quick. Want me to bring you anything?"

"No, I'll get something on the way out." He grabs a towel from the rack and wraps it around his waist. "Thanks, though."

"Sure," Nick's voice floats back as the door to the room closes behind him. 

David looks at himself in the foggy mirror, rubbing at the stubble on his face, and decides that it's all right. It's a legit fashion choice these days, he's pretty sure. 

The cleanest clothes in his bag are a wrinkled pair of khaki shorts and and an even more wrinkled cotton button-down. The shirt has vertical stripes of green. It might belong to someone else. It's possible he swiped it off Enzo's bed, and that makes him cringe a little, suddenly uncomfortable, the thought crowding out some of his good, warm mood. 

Nick is back before he can make up his mind about changing into something that's probably less clean, with an orange in one hand and a muffin in the other. "Is that blueberry?" David asks, distracting himself.

"Cranberry something." He tosses the orange in the air; David watches as it spins fast and then smacks back down into his palm. "I like your shirt, dude."

Just like that, Nick's words pop the weird bubble that had been rising up from his belly. He shivers. Nick smiles quizzically at him, shifting his weight from foot to foot and then taking a bite out of the top of the muffin. "Dave? You okay?"

David nods. "You - you just reminded me why I want to do this, is all," he responds honestly, even though he has to push the words out. Honesty is all he has left to give Nick right now, and he's more than convinced that it's all Nick has to give him; other people own the rest of them.


End file.
